Just A Mechanic
by Emrood
Summary: A simple misunderstanding leaves Muncie between a rock and a hard place when she unintentionally belittles his purpose in her life in order to clear the air from any rumors. (Oneshot)


Just a Mechanic

" _Just_ a mechanic?"

His voice echoed with bitter undertones as the metal nut flew from his fingertips, skipping across three battered car roofs, a window frame, and an old cracked mirror before it careened from sight, disappearing into the abyss of the dump. The scrapyard was familiar territory, his home away from home when he wanted to think...or forget. Forgetting was a lot harder.

He juggled the debris in his palm, chest hunched over his knees. He had been starving earlier. His loss of appetite only made his thinking clearer. And he _hated_ missing a good meal.

Flick!

 _Clink! Clink! Clink!_

The clearest skies had no affect on him, burrowed between a semi crunched frame of a car and wavering sandwiched layers above him, providing him some decent shade. The hood seemingly belonged to a beetle at some point, curved under him as his tail slunk up the cracked windshield, his light frame barely putting a dent in the already dented relic. He juggled the handful again, brows furrowed.

She didn't have to be in love with him.

Heck, she didn't even have to like him all that much.

If she wanted to treat him like an everyday customer, nothing special, take his money and give him basic service...well, it would hurt, but he'd find a way to move on from it. It wasn't like he performed manual maintenance on the house, the restaurant, and her own _car_ when she would let him –she was odd about that...usually a radio tweak or so, but nothing more, and he was fairly sure she'd rip his whiskers if he ever checked the engine.

And ten out of ten times, it was always out of pure coincidence that he would ask how something was holding up, just as the pathetic duct tape holding it together was starting to peel back. A tip was nice and all, but he never asked for it, nor expected it. It was just part of his norm.

Making sure the Rabble Rouser was up and running? _That_ was his real job. Everything else was just...being who he was.

Flick!

 _Clink! Clink! Clink!_

And he had always considered her, at the very least, a dear friend. No, they weren't tight like he was with Buddy, but Buddy was his _best bro_. It was...different. He couldn't imagine sharing the same kind of day between the two of them, and for all intent and purposes, he felt he was entitled to that. It was a fair statement. She and Buddy were just two different people.

He had enough logic for him and Buddy to get by, especially when the dog's ideas were a little more out of the box than usual. But the ferret was no stick in the mud, by any means.

Not that she was a stick in the mud.

She just had priorities. Dreams. And she was achieving them.

He could appreciate that.

It was probably a high stress situation every day keeping the Bolo afloat with the amount of customers she had and the amount of bills she could barely afford. Grease Pit wasn't the biggest town, but it was awful homey and filled with good people. Her establishment offered a home away from home when you didn't want to cook, or drink, or celebrate at home by your lonesome. It was a community meeting place, especially once the race track was closed. If you weren't at the Bolo, you were at the track, and vice versa. And before the beavers, she ran the entire show herself. Yeah, definitely a lot on her mind.

She was doing more to change her future than he was doing with his.

Not that he didn't love life as a mechanic. It was a useful skill and the world would always need them, but he had dreams, too. Just...stalling a little bit.

Flick!

 _Click! Click! Click!_

He supposed he just hadn't realized that's what others were thinking, too.

The metals in his palm clinked together as he rotated his wrist, nose scrunching a bit.

Well, it wasn't like being a mechanic was an _easy_ job. Just how many people could take an old engine, deconstruct it, clean it up, replace necessary components, and put it back together again?

His brows lowered.

How many could even perform a simple oil change?

He was a one man army when it came to the know how of anything on wheels, and as a bonus, anything with an electrical current. Even a manual would do. If it was a puzzle, he could solve it. All he needed was the proper tools and a deadline. If it was broken...he could fix it.

Flick! Flick!

 _Clink!_ _ **Clang!**_

Must've hit a barrel of some sort. His shoulders slumped back.

Fixit. Her casual 'go to' title for him when he was in the middle of a project. They were all motor-heads...but only he was Fixit.

Well...maybe that's all he truly was.

The ferret's nimble ears perked slightly at the rumble of a heavy engine; familiar, but strangely reminded him of another roar on race day...an odd coincidence.

Regardless of his sidetracked mind, the crunch against pavement by the construct of circumference could not fool his well trained ears. They flattened against his head as his cheeks curled further into his shoulders, breath capping in his chest.

The door slammed roughly, echoing through the wreckage, boots crunching against the pebbles lining the roadway above. If he kept still, maybe he'd be left alone.

"I know you're here, Darnell."

Her voice carried out between the metals and ironwork, firm and stern, but somewhat concerned, patient and lingering for any source of life to emit from the wasteland.

His tail flicked ever so slightly, nearly jumping out of his skin as the trash pile he had pegged his transgressions toward collapsed in a near explosion of shrapnel and scrap. The impact rocked the grounds of the dump, ripping a shrill unexpected shriek from his soul, and he bit down on his tongue the moment it escaped.

 _Fart nugget_.

Her footsteps were quick, but it was her keen sense of smell that led her to the ferret, a sure mixture of oil, cologne, and the faint scent of BBQ sauce. The concern her voice had echoed haunted her eyes, a quick sigh of relief overcoming her when she found him curled on the hood of an old beat up car, brushing metal scraps and glass from his shirt.

"Here you are." she huffed, her tone suggesting previous empty handed searches, Y'alright?"

He pinched on the lapel of his button down, giving it a firm tug as the little bits he hadn't reached flew off like bullets, metallic rain clicking along the hood.

Sure. Yeah. Totally fine. Why wouldn't he be alright? _Just a mechanic_ hanging out at a junkyard. Nothing strange here.

And it was all he really planned to tell her, the statement short, bitter, and to the point, but he found the words awkwardly hanging on his conscience, the stoic gaze he designed on pinning her with falling victim to her pity.

He didn't need that. That was the same look she gave him earlier. Right before he left.

* * *

 _Mrs. Weaselbrat could sure talk off an ear and then some. It was taking every strand in Muncie's body to pull a cheerful smile and nod to the unpredictable chuckle the woman had, another story none too far behind. Chatting with the occasional customer was all part of the restaurant business, making sure their meals were decent enough to pay for and delivered in a timely fashion. The people of Grease Pit were like family, really. A conversational topic never ended within four sentences. But on some days (like today), a handful of them would feel extraordinarily talkative during the worst possible times._

 _It wasn't that Muncie wasn't in the mood to chat about...whatever Mrs. Weaselbrat was going on about at the moment, but she simply had too much to do. There was just something in the air that twisted her gut something awful...that sixth sense that alerted her that the Bolo was going to be under inspection real soon. It was nothing she could quite explain or prove, though her gut feelings had never been wrong before and she had managed to successfully predict a health inspection four times in the past two years of owning her restaurant. She wasn't quite sure what the air carried, but she appreciate her sense. It always gave her an advantage._

 _It was the other things in her life that she couldn't predict that threw off the charm of her power._

 _Darnell was still installing the track light just above the menus. Drill bits, plaster, and wood dust were the last things she needed an inspector to find in her meals, aside from the unprofessional manner of it all happening during business hours. The large double sided ladder took up quite a bit of space behind the register, and every so often, the ferret managed to slam some tool or other on the service counter._

 _Wiping a sprayed rag along the surface, Muncie winced one more smile before it perhaps became too obvious that her grin was theatrically in place. "Oh, don't you worry, sweetie, you'll pass any inspection with flying colors. This place is always in tip top shape." noted the second half of the most dedicated Buddy fan base, and Muncie's smile fell into a more natural one, though a bit of weariness rose through._

" _...I just like everything to be on schedule an' having this installation was **not** somethin' I was plannin' on." she uttered through grit teeth, though her ears perked at the ferret's grunt, metal nails balancing between his fangs._

" _I'm doin' my best, Muncie. I told you, I got a little delayed. If I'm not there when the delivery truck shows up, they take the packages back with them. Everything we order through Thunderstruck Trucking needs a signature, an' then I gotta, you know, check everything and make sure it all checks out –"_

 _Clink!_

" _Fart nugget!"_

 _The drill bit nearly cracked at the sudden metal beam he hit, though the nails from his mouth had made the true mess –nails he needed to finish up the last base of the furthest light. The metals rained down onto the counter, bouncing off left and right. Swinging her paws about, Muncie managed to catch two of the handful he had been chewing on, settling them on the wood as he scrambled down, eyes still peering up._

" _Hm...well, good news is I can be done in five minutes. I just need longer, thicker screws than these cheap ones the lights came with."_

 _Clapping her paws to his shoulders, Muncie spun and shoved him toward the kitchen's swing doors, "Bottom drawer next to the stove got a whole collection of screws. Knock yourself out an' **hurry**. Someone could show up any minute an' I got a mess of plaster an' wood rainin' down on my main counter!"_

 _Grabbing the rag, she began wiping everything she could, pinching along the bridge of her nose when she noticed the outline of a narrow Converse among the debris._

 _She scrubbed the area twice, and once more for good measure._

 _Turning around, the hound leaned along the front counter, double checking the knickknacks with a heavy sigh, "I could strangle that ferret. If he was gunna make this big of a mess, we coulda' just stalled it for after hours. Starts this big ol' project while I'm in the kitchen and do I get a heads up? 'Course not. Of all the days..."_

 _Her shoulders popped as a soft understanding hum agreed with her, nearly forgetting Mrs. Weaselbrat had been witnessing the spectacle the entire time. Her plump hand patted along the manager's, a somewhat motherly smile curved along her face. "He's a sweet boy. His heart's in the right place."_

 _With a weary sigh, Muncie crossed her arms, peering over at the boys' usual table, her cousin gorging himself on a basket of wings while reenacting some nonsensical story to anyone who would listen. He always managed to find someone._

" _He an' Buddy are two of a kind. Hearts mighty full, but I wonder about the attic." she huffed, and Mrs. Weaselbrat chuckled lightly, watching as Darnell shuffled back through the door, seemingly proud of his finds. Within seconds he was back up the ladder, buzzing the drill through the tougher grains of wood and aligning the electrical wires to their proper place._

" _Watch your feet! You stepped on my counter last time!" Muncie snapped, prodding her finger against the metal footplate._

" _Alright Muncie, sheesh! It's done. Check it out. Voilà!"_

 _Sliding down the ladder, he clicked the tiny remote, the bright daylight bulbs offering a kindly light over the handwritten menus of the day, brightening up the entire register area._

 _The building frustration she carried seemed to dissipate for a moment, her eyes lifting with a tiny smile. "Ohh, it's so bright now! That's a clean sweep if I've ever seen it."_

 _She spied it from two or three angles, tilting her head the way she often did when observing her own paintings, trying to solve some unspoken enigma._

 _Releasing a huff, Muncie curled her fist and playfully bumper punched his arm, "Thanks, Darnell."_

 _It was a simple project, really. A few wire connections and installing it into place, but who was he to argue?_

 _Pulling his rag from his pocket, the ferret wiped his hands off with a grin, "Happy to help."_

 _Her eyes darted to him immediately, mythical fascination broken._

" _Well, if it makes you so happy, I'll be doin' you a favor by lettin' you stack the ladder out back." she uttered, jetting her thumb toward the kitchen, "An' don't spread dust. Quick! Quick! Shoo!"_

 _Snapping the ladder shut, he promptly swung it sideways, "I'm goin', I'm goin'!" he muttered, careful not to knock over any dishes or utensils as he did, "I dunno why you lose your head when it comes to this stuff. Grease Pit would probably riot if they tried to shut this place down for good. It's practically a historic landmark. Why would anyone wanna go anywhere else? Great home cooked food by Muncie Thunderstruck –what more could you ask for?" he casually shrugged, his tone so honest and pure, she knew he truly meant it._

 _Pausing her cleaning frenzy, Muncie peered over her shoulder at the ferret propping the kitchen door open with the top of the ladder, a warm smile curling along her muzzle. "Aw...thanks, Fixit."_

 _His ears perked at the title, offering her a tiny smile with a nod before ducking into the kitchen completely._

 _Glancing back at her rag, the hound sighed, shaking it out and folding it over the edge of the counter. "Oh...maybe he's right. Maybe I do worry too much."_

 _It took all but a second for her thoughts to be answered._

" _Well, even if you do, you have that nice boy lookin' out for you."_

 _Mrs. Weaselbrat said nothing more, gently sipping on her soda from the straw she had plugged in, but she needn't say more._

 _There was something about her tone...something so incredibly and uncharacteristically **smug** about the way she had said it, it alerted a secondary sense in Muncie...a sense she knew all too well –the common sense. The gossip demons were looming._

 _Her brown eyes darted up, arms curling loosely just under her chest, head swiveling enough for her ears to swing in an antsy rhythm, "Wha– Oh, Darnell? Oh no, no, no, Mrs. Weaselbrat! He's a close family friend!"_

 _Her thumb pointed out toward Buddy, realizing he was waving her down for another basket of wings, both arms hanging over the table with a jolted point. With a half nod, she wrote the order down on a fresh ticket, slapping the order bell. It only took less than a second for one of the beavers to zip out, ripping the tag and disappearing back behind the kitchen doors, eager to start. Top service._

 _Tapping her pen along the pad, Muncie rested her elbow down flat, "We all look out for each other, an' he's always around, mindin' us Thunderstrucks. Stuff falls apart an' he's there to put it back together. Ain't nuthin' special on my end." she shrugged lightly, doodling a spiral on the notepad, "I just try to keep the Bolo runnin' an' Darnell's just a mechanic."_

 _Fwoomp Fwoomp!_

" _Hah."_

 _Muncie's ears lifted before gazing behind her, finding a rather stoic overcast on the ferret's usual carefree face. The kitchen doors swung roughly behind him, near centimeters from thudding, but he appeared in the safe zone, slowly clapping off his paws along his thighs. With a dry sniff, he made his way toward the back counter, careful to ease his way around her without a second glance, "Ladder's back. Collecting my tools." he hummed on a sour note, shoving what he could into the red metallic box._

 _The clips snapped in place as he flicked them sharply, tucking the drill against his chest and plucked his screwdriver from the surface. Scooping the handle of his toolkit, he pressed his back along the counter, scooting to his right as he clutched the tools firmly._

" _Pardon me, **just a mechanic** coming through."_

 _Mrs. Weaselbrat's eyes darted between the two, her sip of pop still swollen in her cheeks._

 _Muncie had frozen at the statement, a dark pit slicing into her very core._

 _She hadn't said it like that, had she? Her mind replayed the conversation, unable to remember how she had said the phrase or even the previous sentence. Regardless of **how** she had said it, she **had** used those words and the more she focused on them, the more she realized the severity of them. The sheer lack of respect. She had minimized him to a default to save her own skin._

 _Her mouth opened, a scramble of thoughts pouring in too fast for her to get a proper sentence out, knowing the longer she waited, the worse it would get. But nothing could come to mind. Her brain had frozen on the sheer stupidity of her slip, a rather loud internal voice reminding her that he had **just** finished pulling her a favor. Perhaps she had been too frazzled waiting for an unexpected visit. Perhaps she had been distracted with an unexpected statement. Regardless of the underlying cause, she had remained quiet too long._

 _He had already maneuvered halfway to the main door, muttering something or other to Buddy who nodded in quick understanding, offering a thumbs up._

" _Oh..." Mrs. Weaselbrat uttered softly, the sudden guilt in her voice waking Muncie from her stupor as she swung her hips around the counter and chased him down, the door shutting just beyond her grasp. Yanking the large handle, the hound thrust it open, ready to sprint forward, "Wait, Darne–"_

 _She jolted back, face to face with a smartly dressed buck._

 _Extending a firm handshake, he lifted his clipboard, thrusting his chin out toward the inside of the restaurant, "Afternoon, ma'am. I'm with Grease Pit Health Inspections, may I speak with the manager of this establishment?"_

 _She stared at the creature before her, the knot in her stomach deepening. Her sixth sense had been spot on...but her common sense had failed her._

" _Oh, uhm..."_

 _Her eyes darted over his shoulder, but Darnell had vanished from sight._

 _The damage was bound to get worse._

 _She lifted her eyes to the smiling fellow, pulling a plastic one to balance him, but she couldn't quite get her eyes to lie._

" _...Sure, c'mon in."_

* * *

Her arms crossed loosely under her chest, still ostensibly at a loss for words. It wasn't something she could just brush off, nor did she want to. It was important. Important to him, important to her.

Something clicked and shattered glass of some sort, the ambiance filling the awkward tension in the air. With a rough sigh, Muncie gazed up, scuffing her boot along the rubble, "Shoot, Darnell. I didn't mean...I didn't realize–…."

Her brows knit in quiet thought, glancing between the debris surrounding them before she shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Everything she had mulled over on the drive here. She just had to let it out.

"...I hurt you. An' it don't matter much if I meant to or not...y'got hurt just the same. An' I know you're feelin' some kinda way about it."

She watched as he suddenly slumped back against the cracked windshield behind him, tucking his arms under his head in a leisurely stretch, tail flicking over the hood and bumper. His eyes closed with a snort, "Pffft. I don't know what you're talking about. Who has feelings? Feelings are for the weak. Sort that into the loser pile for dumb things."

Her sense of pity slumped into impatience, straightening her posture with a grunt, "Who told you that load of garbage? Buddy?"

The ferret said nothing, though she was fairly positive of her assumption.

"C'mon, Darnell, you're smarter than that."

His beady eyes squinted open, nose scrunched.

" _Am I_? After all, I am _just_ a mechanic."

It was quiet for a moment.

And he said nothing more.

Muncie sighed, clapping off her palms before doubling her knuckles to her hips, "Well, I s'ppose you're right. Feelings are for the weak. Who needs 'em? You seem to be doin' fine without 'em an' I certainly don't need 'em crawlin' on my back. What a waste of time tryin' to hunt you down! Searchin' heck and high water, worried sick 'cause I thought I might've made you feel less than dirt. You are absolutely right. Feelings are plain _stupid_. My mistake." she uttered, hands tapping on her chest.

The ferret's ears had perked, though he seemed to avoid her gaze, eyeing the trash heap to his left. His foot had awkwardly tapped against the hood, slow and steady.

She turned on her heel, darting a wavering finger in thought.

"Odd that you told Buddy y'had some errands to run without a ride to do 'em with. An' you hate walking anywhere. Somethin' must've really been on the mind to motivate you to walk all the way down here –but what am I sayin'? That gives an assumption that you an' I care about anything. Only _losers_ fall into all that."

The hood crunched in a bit, his tail flicking.

She took a few steps forward, "Not like I'm needed at the Bolo or anythin', inspector showin' up when he did..I'm sure Buddy's doin' a fine job of walkin' the inspector around...only my blood, sweat, an' tears went into restorin' that place. But we all know how great Buddy is at keepin' focused on things that don't concern him directly–"

"...Muncie?"

Her boot rested gently on her next step, swiveling on her heel to find the ferret merely one foot away from her. It fascinated her how nimble he could be...and stubborn. Her paws rested along her lower back, the fiery rage within her settling back to a warm coal. His thumb ran along his knuckles, fingers clasped in a fumble as he spoke to his hands rather than her.

"It... _sorta_ bugged me...when you sai–"

He froze as her arms lunged at him, clasping him tightly to her chest, cheek resting gently on his shoulder. His outstretched fingers slowly relaxed, unsure of where to place himself in her grip until he simply accepted the fact that his arms were pinned to his sides...and he was okay with that.

A deep breath ran by his ear, the hum of her voice small, but powerful.

"...I am so sorry."

She pulled away, but her warmth remained, and he rubbed his arm with a weak smile, finding the damnation in her eyes too heavy to bear up front.

"No big deal." he shrugged, though she could bet every penny she had the meaning was empty.

Her paws clapped on his shoulders, locking eyes with him, "Darnell, you know we love you? The Thunderstruck family wouldn't be the same without you, always fixin' our messes an' bein' a voice of reason especially when it comes to Buddy. You ground him, an' when you ground him, you ground us all. You have to believe that truth, an' not some nonsense I blurted when I was put on the spot."

The ferret's eyes darted toward the ground, visibly uncomfortable with the sudden praise. He hadn't been quite prepared for it, though it made him feel...too many feelings. He stood by what he had said earlier. Feelings were dumb. They too often distracted him from his daily tasks, filled him with self doubt and qualms that, on an average day, had no business cluttering up his mind.

He often wondered how Buddy managed to ignore such things...if he even suffered from such thoughts to begin with. Nothing ever seemed to bring the dog down, always fairly positive he could achieve whatever he put his heart and soul into, unless he grew bored with it. But even the boredom never bothered him. He simply moved on to something more interesting. Darnell...thought about things. For a while. And then the evolution took place...haunting him until...something _else_ grew worthy of corrupting his mind.

Fixing things kept his mind at ease. Took the weight off his shoulders. Gave him an outlet to exhaust his frustrations.

He winced awkwardly. He had to keep it together.

A lone finger poked at his chest, "What's that look for?"

It was quiet for a moment as he gazed about, seating himself on a lidded trash can, dented and dingy, but still rather sturdy. He rubbed his neck, pacing himself to find the words that described it best. It wasn't something he planned on discussing that day, or ever, but it didn't seem like Muncie planned on leaving any time soon, or without a good reason. He sighed lightly, "I dunno...I guess...after reevaluating my life out here, it just made me think a little. Wonder if that's all it added up to."

His fingers tapped their matching sets, ending in a soft clap before resting them between his legs.

Muncie's head tilted, leaning along the frame of a car just alongside him, the wide skies open above. She was no Buddy Thunderstruck, but she wondered how often her cousin offered a listening ear to the ferret, rather positive the conversation usually took a one way street. Surely her words hadn't done this much harm? Perhaps this was something stewing...boiling and broiling until the pot popped its lid. She wouldn't have known.

But she did now.

Her eyes closed softly, resting her heel against the metal behind her, "Darnell, a job doesn't define your life. It might leave a heavy mark, an' it might take up a good portion of your time, but it's not the only thing goin' for you. You're not _just_ a mechanic." Her voice held a firmness, as if scolding herself in the process before continuing on, "You're a best friend, an' a great friend, an' a loyal soul, an' so much more. You like tinkerin' around with stuff –that just makes your job a whole lot more interesting. An' if you love what you do, isn't that what really matters?"

He glanced at her quietly, sitting back along the container.

"Bein' best at what you do doesn't make you just a mechanic. It makes you _the_ mechanic. An' we can only be grateful that you're all ours." she uttered softly, opening her eyes to his soft smile.

He twiddled his fingers shyly, nudging a cheek itch with his shoulder before settling down,

"Heh...thanks."

"To be honest, I don't think Buddy could ever muster up all those wins if you weren't around cheerin' him on." she added with a shrug, knowing it was more truth than a compliment. A truth she could use to her advantage, but felt wrong in doing so. If she was ever going to rub a victory in his face, she was going to do it when he was giving his best. The ferret just happened to be part of the packaged deal.

"Or fixing blown tires. It's a pretty common trigger of accidents on the track. Dive right into the action." his paw swooped with ease, settling it on his lap as his ears twitched. Muncie was chuckling and doing a sloppy job of trying to hide it. His brows knit curiously, "What's funny?"

"You _are_ proud of what you do." she smiled, tucking her arms behind her, shoulders pressed against the metal, "See? You don't need my approval or opinion, or anyone else's for that matter. You've never settled for less than top quality work."

His gaze rolled toward the junk heap mountains, enthusiasm dying out, "Well...yeah. But it's, you know, nice to be noticed once in awhile."

Brows knitting, Muncie leaned up, shoving a fist into her palm, "Then remind me to put Buddy in a headlock for not givin' credit where credit's due. He needs more practice on how to share some of that spotlight, especially after all the work you do for him."

Waving a light hand, Darnell shrugged, "Nah, that's alright. I have that whole uncut interview on tape of him saying how great I am. He won't let me play it anymore, but it exists." he chuckled, and Muncie smirked, wondering how many times Darnell must've played it back for Buddy to ban it. "'Sides, undivided attention plays on my stage fright." the ferret uttered absentmindedly, and the hound's ears perked.

"Stage fright?"

His eyes darted toward her as he realized his blurt, slightly sinking into his shoulders. "Yeeeah...comes an' goes. Sometimes I think it's gone and uh, hah...there it is." His fingers wiggled in surprise before settling them on the sides of his seat, finding it too silent between them as he gazed about the junkyard, trying to find something to focus on.

"It's just another puzzle for you to tinker with. I'm sure you'll figure somethin' out." she noted softly, brushing herself off. She couldn't imagine the inspector was still lingering around, unless Buddy managed to enthrall with some long winded story and...who knows how that would benefit her in any way. She only hoped he didn't make a mockery of the Bolo.

It seemed Darnell was on the same wavelength.

"So, your gut was right after all, huh?"

A small sigh escaped her, rubbing along the side of her face, "S'ppose it was...hopin' for the best. Left it in Buddy's capable hands–" her voice gave a twang of doubt before shaking it off, "It'll be fine. Everything was alright when I left, an' I'm sure the beavers are doin' their part–"

"You know, Muncie...as much as I appreciate you coming down, you didn't have to lea–"

Her glare forced the words back down his throat, fingers twiddling on his lap, "Great idea, actually. Comin' to rectify the situation– you're a great person. Really appreciate it."

Her brows flattened, lifting off the frame, "That's what I thought." she uttered, a slight growl casing her words. She glanced over her shoulder, a fraction of thought reminding her that she was needed elsewhere, "Speakin' o' which...I better get back. Let Mrs. Weaselbrat know it's all in the clear. Poor woman's a mess thinkin' it's her fault."

Darnell squinted at the logic, "Why would she think that?"

Tilting her head, the hound arched a brow, "Because of what you –wait a minute. Just how much of what I said did you hear, anyway?"

He shrugged lightly, capping a paw along his arm, "End of it, I guess. Heard enough an' figured...well. Mmm."

His paw shot up his arm as she threw a playful punch, her head shaking, " _Motor head_. Mrs. Weaselbrat thinks you've got a thing for me! An' vice versa. I was just tryin' to clear the air with some reason, an' out you come, an' here we are."

Her arms crossed as she watched him process the information, beady eyes blank.

"So...sh –wait, she thinks _what?_ "

The echo of the statement left the air with awkward silence, both sharing a graceless stare until they broke into laughter, alleviating the tension hovering over.

"She thinks–?"

"Yeah."

"That's just–"

"I know."

Muncie offered a sheepish shrug, not quite sure where to advance from there. He was smiling, a smile of understanding and a smile of relief, and possibly an awkwardly shy smile as he thought of the contents of his pure misunderstanding. Eavesdropping was the worst, but it wasn't like he had planned on doing so. It was more of a walk in at the wrong time. Muncie would have never gossiped like some teenage avenger. No...the true Muncie would've given her combatant a proper face to face smearing. He should have known better. Stupid, dumb feelings.

 **KABOOM!**

The pile of smashed metal frames Darnell had been sitting under completely crushed the beetle car underneath, bits of scraps rolling about in a landslide. The two of them gazed at the mess, Muncie rubbing along her neck in thought. "Well, that would've killed you." she uttered quietly, bumping her elbow against him as she began her trek back to her car. The trash can ground its lid against the metal basin as he slid off, glancing back at the mashed wreckage.

"Guess I owe you one." he suggested, nearly walking into her when she suddenly stopped, turning on her heel. Her palms rested on her hips, eyes closed for a moment in focused thought before she gazed at him, poking his chest, "I'll do you one better, Fixit. The next time _you_ need fixin', y'just let me know. I've got two willin' ears, ready to listen. An' maybe a batch of nachos. It ain't healthy to keep all those thoughts cooped up like y'do. You need a good minute of somebody's time, an' trucks don't count." she added flatly, seeing his eagerness bearing through.

"The Rabble Rouser's a pretty good place to vent." he admitted, arms crossing firmly, "Always there and I take great solace in its silence."

His ears flattened as his brows knit, "It knows too much."

Shaking her head lightly, Muncie sighed, "I dunno why you boys get so antsy when it comes to admitting your feelings. It's a great stress reliever. Like a good punch to someone's face."

"Because feelings are dumb." he blurted stiffly, knuckles resting against his back as his gaze lowered in a disgruntled manner, "...It's the easiest way to hurt somebody."

Muncie's stoic gaze softened at the truth of his statement, figuring there had to be a reason the ferret felt so strongly about such things, but perhaps it wasn't the best time to pry. There would be future opportunities, now that she was aware. And Buddy would be made aware, if he wasn't already. They would be there for him, as he always was for them.

"Lucky for you, us ladies are pros at pullin' 'em out from ya. An' we happen to like it." she smiled, playfully flicking her finger across his nose before resuming her path, leaving him behind a few paces. He blinked as the concept crossed his mind, and her offer, and whatever else, a tiny smile curved along his muzzle as he entertained the idea.

"Oh." he uttered simply, clearing his throat before a grin could follow. Muncie would've punched it out of him at the rate her palm flew against his chest, "Oh! Wait! I gotta –clear the passenger seat!"

She scrambled ahead, leaving him to nurse his chest.

"Why are you so weird about your truck…?" he muttered, wincing when she tossed him a sour glare.

"You're more than welcome to walk back. Y'got here fine by it." she huffed, climbing up the dirt hill, her truck at the very top. Sharing feelings were one thing. Sharing secrets was a whole other ball game. Yanking open her door, she shuffled her belongings, including her helmet, to the back seats and tossed a blanket over them, making sure all was pristine before reaching over and unlocking the door. "Looks clean to me. I think that inspector got to your head." the ferret muttered, glancing around as he climbed in, wincing with a smirk when she waved her paw at him to sit and buckle, "Oh, you hush. Let's just hope the sheriff ain't on this road. It's about time I had a little chat with my own truck, an' it's only givin' me a fifteen minute slot."

Leaning along the armrest, Darnell tilted his head, a slight grin curling, "I'm hearin' seven."

Thrusting the keys into the ignition, Muncie Thunderstruck slammed the gas, "You're on."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Man, I'm just waiting for this site to update their categories because there is nothing of Buddy Thunderstruck and that kills me. It is such a great show. Every character is so charming and the humor is fantastic, and also lots and lots of bromance. I dig that so much. But I really like how Darnell is noted to be a secretly complex character with the things he says and does, and Buddy always seems genuinely shocked about new facts (meanwhile its something a best friend should be aware of) or they just go over his head. Poor Buddy. So blissfully ignorant. And poor Muncie, dealing with them both._


End file.
